here at the end of august with
the sky hammered flat and dull and
the sun a white glare from
every direction and the way that i
breathe you in like a darker
form of oxygen

and the maps are all lies
and the politicians whores and
the walls all cool to the touch

your flesh
where it presses against mine
and the days laid end to end
like corpses

the corpses stacked
like firewood

and you tell me that it
has to end
and i tell you that i love you

and neither of us hears
the other

the children are born and
some of them live
the streets have names
that i can never remember

i lose you and then
find you again in a different room
in another year
and your taste is familiar

the war is over
but the soldiers still die

the city is in flames
and your scars have faded but
haven't gone away and
this is the only story i know

these are the only days we have
tell me they matter

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